


Circles on the water

by Yon_shi



Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Codependency, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Unhealthy Relationships, a terrible way to solve emotional problems, one obscene word, suicidal motives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27150491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yon_shi/pseuds/Yon_shi
Summary: Not only Scriabin tried to find a way to get rid of the position of the lock in the waste system.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Circles on the water

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Vargas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/49492) by [Zarla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zarla/pseuds/Zarla). 



If Edgar was asked when was the last time his thoughts were clear and pure, he would say that at the last meeting with Nny — when, being completely exhausted, he did not have the strength to be nervous, angry or afraid. When his mind was completely blank, he made the right decisions and was not bothered by hallucinations that slowly drove him crazy.

Scriabin said that he would fix everything, but he clearly couldn't cope. He only became more and more nervous and irritated, the boundaries between them became more and more blurred and Edgar felt that Scriabin was tired. That he was slowly giving up the position, although he spoke about the opposite.

Take a slow breath in and out. Completely clear his mind. Will step back, look at the situation from the outside, without showing unnecessary emotions. Showing no emotions. This is exactly what he needs now. At least Edgar can try to do it, since he still has nothing to lose but his mind. Therefore, he too should try to do something himself; he can't just shift everything to Scriabin.

***

— Mr. Scri?.. — A second ago, he made his decision while lying in bed when he suddenly found himself at the kitchen table with a spoon in his mouth. He seems to be eating the soup he made yesterday. Perhaps not much time has passed.  
— Todd, what's the date today? — It was the last spoon, so he gets up to wash the dishes and takes the plate from the distracted boy — he probably was talking to Shmee.  
— Oh, you're Mr. Edgar now… — He said slightly absentmindedly, and then gave the date.

Edgar lost only night. It's less than usual. He need to think not how Scriabin again took control of him without asking, but on pressing problems — it seems that he began to be late, if he doesn't start getting ready right now.

«…» — Scriabin was strangely quiet, but there was no time to worry about it. Perhaps he is simply surprised that they didn't bicker again.

***

Slow, methodical work. It seems that he will not have time to cope with everything for today, but this is not so — he just need to solve problems as urgent and not be distracted by trifles — he may well do without a coffee and lunch break, as he ate in the morning and not pay attention to Scriabin's next comment that Edgar's stupidity knows no bounds if he cannot cope with the job he worked for so many years. Or when Scriabin started control him only to go to the store and buy sweets.

«God, you're so slow, it's so booooooring!»  
«I know, but I can't work faster without losing quality. — A quick comment, an empty acceptance of the fact. — If I make a mistake, I will only spend more time when I need to fix everything.»

Finish the job at about ten o'clock. About twelve o'clock to realize that he is standing in a bar with a glass of tequila in his hand and to feel the taste of lemon and salt. Pay for an unfinished drink and go home, despite Scriabin's screams in his head. Eat since he hadn't eaten anything since morning and try to sleep. An hour after the unsuccessful attempt to fall asleep to answer Nny's call, to note that for some reason he began to talk about empty things. Notice some creature crawling along the corridor. Take a slow breath in and out. Realize that it's most likely not real. Close and open your eyes several times so that the vision finally disappears. Understand that Nny hung up during this time.

«Finally, you can at least do something without a ten-year-old boy». — Or some other comment in the same spirit from Scriabin would not be a surprise.

But Scriabin was silence. It wasn't his usual behavior, but it was even better that way. Even if he was planning something — it gave some time about peace.

***

However, it was not quiet for long — in order to turn on the speech function of Scriabin, it was enough for Edgar to come to church — he wanted to restore connection with God.

«If your connection existed. — Sarcasm function connects automatically. — Do you really think that he will accept you after all that you have done?»  
«What have I done?» — It was a somewhat rhetorical question, since Edgar was reading a prayer, but for Scriabin it sounded like an invitation for a monologue.  
«Really, what you have done? Of course you didn't connect your life with the killer, because of whom it began to crumble, you didn't try to justify his actions (in particular, you didn't like the way he tortured two teenagers) and you didn't die. Oh yeah, your selective holiness and desire to play the victim…»

Something gets inside and scratches his throat, but Edgar knows how to deal with it — he just need to breathe in and out slowly.

«Then let's talk about it. I could say that God's house is not a very suitable place for this, but people come here not only for prayers, but also to think about their actions.»  
«It sounds like you've done it at least once in your life.»  
«Better late than never.» — The choir began to sing. Not bad, although its youngest members often miss the notes.

Scriabin was trying to say something else, but Edgar started earlier.

«As I told Nny, I shouldn't have picked up the phone when he called. If think more about it, it was a rather strange thing — to do to answer someone in the middle of the night. Apparently my sleepy state played. — Monotonous response and even before Scriabin had time to attack, defend himself from the blow. — I am not making excuses, but simply saying facts. I need to pray about this mistake first of all, because it all started with this anyway.»

The choir finished singing and the pastor began to preach. He seemed a little drunk, but the parishioners, chilled from the cold wind, wanted to just go home.

«What next?..» — Edgar rubbed his temples wearily, feeling a sudden attack of headache. He couldn't figure out who or what it was coming from, but trying to think more and more felt like mocking himself.

«Wait and give me a few minute…» — Edgar didn't know what it looked like from Scriabin's side, but it probably could be compared to a control panel on which there are many buttons without signatures. Before the migraine passed, in his eyes darkened several times, his head began to spin, and his pulse began to drown out literally all sounds, but in the end everything returned to normal.

«Thanks…» — Edgar said automatically and wanted to continue the conversation before he realized that it was too quiet around him — no whispers or rustling of clothes could be heard.

A cursory examination around him and checking the clock suggested that he had been sitting for more than four hours, although he had expected to spend only three. It's not surprising that there was no one else left in the building except himself.

«It seems we will have to discuss this next time». — Edgar got up from the bench and brushed off coat.

«Stop doing this, my boy. — Scriabin speaks when Edgar starts the car. — You're backing away from everything again. — Scriabin's voice is surprisingly soft. This has not happened for a very long time. — Moreover, you don't just lock your emotions, I feel how you destroy them, how they dissapear. You don't need to turn yourself into a zombie like you did when you last saw Johnny. It's too much».

«This has helped me a lot over the past few days.» — Edgar speaks only during long pauses to keep an eye on the road.  
«Edgar, it's not solution! Yes, the waste system is fueled by negativity, but… You can't do this forever!» — For some reason, Scriabin is lost.  
«Then I'll just do it as long as I can while it works. This will give us more time». — Edgar had already arrived at home, so the conversation was over.

***

The next three days went surprisingly well. He was semi-successful with hallucinations, was able to suppress a panic attack (or were there two, just started one after the other?) And even got some sleep. A few hours, but that's better than nothing. Scriabin still took control of him body, but didn't do something that would cause too many problems. He still made a lot of angry and sarcastic comments, but now they couldn't hurt.

Edgar spoke with Devi, when she called to ask how he was doing. For some reason, at the end of the conversation, she again asked about his health.

— You seem tired, try to sleep. — Her advice was efficient — it is difficult to function normally in a constant half-asleep state.

Talk a little more and wish Devi good luck with her paintings. Cover up the already sleeping Todd. Drink some lemon tea instead of dinner because Edgar thinks that if he even looks at the food, he will vomit. Try to fall asleep (not just lie staring at the ceiling). Ignore the obvious hallucination of growling — Todd would have woken up by now if this sound that muffled even thoughts was real.

Somehow, Edgar manages to fully fall asleep, and not only dive into colorless nothing.

***

Edgar sees the clear sea surface. Complete calm, even the smallest waves do not shake the water. The sea reflects the same clear, without a single cloud, dark gray sky, passing somewhere in the distance into the ideal line of the horizon. No sun, no wind, no cloud, no wave. Behind the shore with pale sand. Edgar sits on a small fishing bridge.

If desired, he could easily reach with his feet to the water and destroy its surface, but this is not necessary. There is no need to spoil the perfect picture with splashes of water.

Of course, Scriabin was there too.

In a T-shirt and shorts, his hair pulled back as if he was getting ready for a swim, and his shoes were prudently removed. The yarn on his hair was not tied tightly, and therefore every second threatened to unravel and return Scriabin's hair to its original state, but he did not seem to care. For some reason, Scriabin is still wearing a coat, but it seems inappropriate only if you think about it. Edgar wore a similar outfit, but he was not too interested in his clothes.

— Sooooo boring here. — Scriabin every second dangled his legs in the air, as if this would help speed up the moment of awakening Edgar, who only shrugged his shoulders in response.

The silence was not interrupted. Tired of active movements, Scriabin carefully wet his feet in the water, as if trying to check something

— The water is warm. — He eventually summed up and began to lazily ripple in the water. Scriabin's actions annoyed Edgar and he couldn't find the reasons for this. At the first blush, Scriabin does nothing wrong… but he was no need to muddy such clear water, through which the bottom was even visible, so why is he doing this?! Why would he…

Take a slow breath in and out. Completely clear his mind. He doesn't need to be angry about such nonsense. Excessive outburst of anger will only attract unwanted attention. Better to just start looking at the sky — in it he will not see circles on the water.

— …How many interesting things this boring sea hides. — Scriabin interrupts the silence and Edgar absentmindedly lowers his eyes to study the bottom.

He sees several corals, which, of course, are found in the sea, stones, shells, some algae, as the water darkens far from the coast due to the depth. The whole landscape, which before that seemed very monotonous, immediately becomes more elaborate if you better look at what is inside. Edgar even saw some fish.

— But they disappeared because you killed them. — Scriabin, as always, reads thoughts, but Edgar does not understand what he means, and therefore, out of habit, stretches inward. Emotions flare up like sparks and Edgar feels how he notices that Scriabin is displeased and worried with something.

But that doesn't explain his words.

— Stop erasing your feeling. It's not even suppression, it's even worse. After all, you cannot do this forever, your attempt to solve the problem like this is nothing more than the calm before the storm.  
— But it's works. — Has his voice always sounded so distant? Or the last few days? — Isn't that enough? Even your fatigue has become less.  
— I don't get tired of anything, I don't know what you're talking about. — For some reason, Scriabin got to his feet.  
— How you sa-

Water splashes flew into Edgar, and the sounds that were heard during Scriabin's jump into the water for a second seemed deafening in complete silence.

— Than doing nothing, let's have some fun. — It turns out the water was only slightly knee-deep.  
— Stop creating clutter from scratch. — Water droplets somehow got on to Edgar's glasses and now he had to blow off it. — This is completely inappropriate.  
— Stop being so boring and take this chance now. Come on, you moron!

…Take a slow breath in and out. Don't spray attention. It's just a stupid dream, he just need to enjoy the fact that it is normal and without unnecessary static noises and…

— …Stop splashing on me, I just wiped off the glass. — Scriabin doesn't stop. As only he himself understands, he doesn't leave him alone. _Never._  
— Wipe out more, it's not hard work. Or go and stop me if it bothers you.

«Go»… that's a really good idea. But «go away». He can always get rid of the source of irritation in another way. At least he could, if he started acting before he fully registered his thought. Because the moment was lost and Scriabin was there. In order not to let go and drag them into the water.

Море действительно теплое, но сейчас это не имеет серьезного значения.

— Scriabin, let me **go**. — Edgar said it louder than he wanted to. He didn't know what Scriabin was planning to do, so he resisted more on principle.  
— You can't run away from problems forever, you coward!.. — And it always happens.

always, always, always, always, ALWAYS

— I'm not running anywhere, you are just always dragging me somewhere! — He needs to immediately move away and calm down, but Scriabin, as _always_ , prevents him from doing at least something!  
— ME?! I SOLVE all your problems! — A sharp jolt in the chest and Edgar only miraculously stayed on his feet and didn' fall into the water. — If not for me, we would both have died long ago! It is YOU who always do things that you later have to regret and only **I** am always raking all the shit!  
— Then just do what YOU want And LEAVE ME ALONE!!!

…Take a slow breath in and out. He shouldn't have shouted now, this is clearly not what he needs. Now he needs to remember and repeat the exercise that he has been doing successfully all these years. Close eyes. Relax the facial muscles gradually. Ignore the lump in his throat. Concentrate on keeping his heart beating smoothly. Simple steps to help him regain his balance.

— …Stop it, Edgar. Just stop. — His voice sounded even quieter than before. As if he regretted something... but what a silly thought, he never regrets _anything_. Perhaps this will someday play a cruel joke with him.

— I don't want to change… anything. — Pause to even out the trembling voice. — Maybe this is what I've always wanted. — It still burns for no reason in the eyes, but it will soon stop. — Why not let each of us do what he wants?

In the end, this is the best and most graceful way out of the situation.

— Okay. — Scriabin so easily agrees and his tone of voice is so carefree that Edgar immediately starts looking for a catch. — But being a robot is clearly not what you want. Moreover, this is not what **_we_** want.  
— Oh yeah, you know so well me and all my desires! — No, this is a completely wrong exclamation, in a completely wrong voice, and this provokes the return of a state of hysteria. Methodical hand scratching is not such a bad way to switch from an emotional state to a physical one — it will not lead to bleeding and at the same time, mild painful sensations will focus on himself.

Scriabin goes to him so quickly with an obvious desire to either grab Edgar, or he will hit him, that Edgar is seized by a vague panic and he abruptly moves aside, from which Scriabin falls into the water with a loud splash, stumbling on an uneven bottom.

— Oh… s-sorry, I didn't plan it… — Edgar helps to find glasses that definitely flew off his face and fell somewhere in the water and after the successful completion of the task, he turns around to give them.  
— Give them here. — Scriabin almost growls, but with straight wet hair, which now seems longer than it was, he looks very funny, so a smile appears on Edgar's face before he can stop it.

There should have been no smile, no condition close to hysteria, not a drop of anxiety, no panic. It had only been a few minutes since he was thrown off balance, and Edgar had already made too many emotional movements that ruin everything he has achieved in these few days.

Damn, he's so pathetic he can't even come to his senses.

Waves appeared on the sea (the calm is over), and the glasses in Edgar's hand were successfully replaced by Scriabin's palm, who dragged him to the shore away from the water and back into the familiar white void.

White… Why is this emptiness not gray? In the end, it is the emptiness of the gray invisible man who is only good enough to be a lock for all the garbage of this world.

Why does Scriabin need this? Why does he need _him_? An empty facsimile of person, incapable of giving anything, only mechanically performing work… but there are already computers for this.

…wouldn't it be easier… just to let him disappear? Let him break and take such a desirable body for yourself? It would fix everything. Edgar has already been told that he should have died when Johnny

— Edgar! — Scriabin so confidently grasped his face with his palms that Edgar felt that it immediately became much warmer. — Think of something better than this pointless self-scourging.

For some reason, it was at this minute that silence reigned and all thus situation was surprisingly awkward, so Edgar felt a strong desire to interrupt it with at least something. In addition, Edgar suddenly realized that he was cold — the warmth of Scriabin's hands on his face created a sharp contrast in sensations.

— I… just… think about the facts. — Edgar knew for sure that it was.  
— Why do you think that? — Scriabin didn't say to look at him, but Edgar felt a mental order. The red bow of yarn returned to its rightful place, Scriabin's hair was fluffy again, the clothes became as usual and some part of Edgar could not stop feeling relieved about this.  
— …you also talked about what I really am. You don't have to ask about it. — He doesn't feel anything about it. Unlike Scriabin, muttering some kind of unintelligible swear word.  
— As I said early, I can change my position in the current situation and…  
— This is completely inconsistent. — A quick tip that made Scriabin say «fuck» more clearly and louder.  
— It's doesn't matter now. So be a good boy and just repeat after me, «I don't want to feel nothing».

Oh, they made a circle and went back to where it all started. Welp, if that's enough, Edgar can easily repeat a few phrases without actually agreeing with them. Anyway better not to contradict Scriabin, because he always managed to make things worse, even if it seems couldn't be worse.

— I don't want to feel nothing. — He almost succeeds in copying his intonation correctly. Scriabin slightly increased the pressure of his palms on his face.  
— «I won't kill myself from the inside». — Edgar hears his voice tremble in carefully suppressed anger. As if there is a reason to be angry.  
— I won't kill myself from the inside. — A strange mantra that gives nothing, Edgar is sure of it. He only raised his voice a little.  
— You will not suppress yourself and your desires. — Suddenly a soft voice, like the purr of a cat.  
— I'll… I won't suppress… myself and my desires… — How can he suppress what is not?  
— You try to do it again. — Edgar imagines that Scriabin is now staring into his eyes — because it goes well with the tone. — Don't hide. Don't you dare hide _from me_. I forbid you to do this, do you hear? — The imperious tone with which Edgar can't agree this time.

DON'T hide? Just express his displeasure? Give up something that he don't like, stand his ground… It didn't seem like something tempting; it seemed impossible and Edgar could not even roughly imagine a situation in which he could do this, being sane. Answer this to Scriabin…

Something **upset** him in the last thought, and enough strongly. AND now he really had one desire — to turn away, clench his teeth and fists tighter and shut up, even if that didn’t help stop the stormy stream and convulsive shaking mixed with sobs. But he did not have such an opportunity — Scriabin only grabbed him painfully, not allowing him to leave.

Edgar does not understand why he was even more upset about this and is not sure if the search for an answer or an answer will give him at least something. Now Edgar would be glad to hear the deafening noise and which doesn't even give a chance to think, but in his head it was too clear for this and unnecessary _feelings_ continued to cover him with a wave. It is also quiet, cold and Edgar doesn't understand why Scriabin needs at least some kind of response from him, if it complicates everything.

Scriabin had told him more than once what he wanted. Isn't that all?

— Shhh, my boy. — Scriabin takes off his glasses and Edgar doesn't resist. Anyway, they are useless now. — Don't yell at yourself, it's my job. — Still a very gentle timbre.

Edgar barely manages to realize that Scriabin wiped his face with the back of free hand and began to pat him weakly on the back of the head — perhaps in an attempt to console him, which didn't happen often.

— And… — A short pause to find the words. — You are not nobody, so don't you dare talk about yourself like that. There are people who care about you. — These words touch some thread stretched to the limit, allowing it to break. Or maybe the only thing is that it was Scriabin who said it. -…For example Todd. — It was added in a too quick and casual tone, but Edgar decided not to dig too deep.  
— …Maybe you're right. — There was barely enough strength to whisper before his emotional battery was finally depleted.

Scriabin smiles smugly, because he is not _just_ right, he ALWAYS right and Edgar is tiredly silent and wants to wake up as soon as possible, since this whole situation is surprisingly awkward. Besides screwing up really badly with his attempt to find a way to beat the lock system, he also threw a tantrum.

— You seem to have read somewhere that it's good for people to cry well to release their emotions. — Scriabin distracts him by speaking out loud. Edgar forces himself not think negatively and just listen. — Maybe just because people forbid themselves to let off steam and there are waste systems.

If not tomorrow, then the day after tomorrow Scriabin will again have a fight with monsters or he will simply get tired and have a bad mood and everything will only get worse and more painful, but now Scriabin looked very calm and even a little relaxed, and it made Edgar pleased. It would be great if he was always like that, but something sad whispers that this is impossible and Edgar with a mental nod agrees. If everything were so simple… it wouldn't be Scriabin and Edgar probably doesn't agree to someone else.

— …What did you say? — Scriabin interrupted his reflections in mid-sentence, only to ask this. — I mean your last words.  
— I thought that I want only you. — To have in his head of course. — What do you think about it?

Scriabin is silent, but he looks as if he can't believe his ears and slowly choosing words to say something in response… but he say nothing.

They are woken up by a phone call from some company offering to buy a new vacuum cleaner. Edgar silently puts the phone down and dives under the covers, trying to fall asleep immediately. Because damn it, he couldn't get more than four hours of sleep for a long time.

«You may not try, it won't work.» — Scriabin said strangely absent-mindedly. Indeed, fifteen minutes were wasted, and so Edgar decided to get up.

The dream couldn't be recalled — perhaps a stupid omen worked that if you look out the window, you will forget what you dreamed or something like that. But the decision to no longer try to overcome the waste system by suppressing one's own negativity and all feelings came, albeit subconsciously. So the morning began as usual — with an argument with Scriabin over a trifle.

Nevertheless, Edgar felt that Scriabin was in a good mood — the bicker ended much faster than usual.


End file.
